as well, Drizzt noted. When Regis dipped, a hundred jewels and a dozen fat pouches tinkled. Regis had always loved fine things, but Drizzt had never seen the halfling so garishly bedecked. He wore a gem-studded jacket and more jewelry than Drizzt had ever seen in one place, including the magical, hypnotic ruby pendant.
"Might ye be staying long?" Catti-brie asked.
"I am in no hurry," Regis replied. "Might I have a room," he asked Bruenor, "to put my things and rest away the weariness of a long road?"
"We'll see to it," Catti-brie assured him as Drizzt and Bruenor exchanged glances once more. They both were thinking the same thing: that it was unusual for a master of a back-stabbing, opportunistic thieves' guild to leave his place of power for any length of time.
"And for yer attendants?" Bruenor asked, a loaded question.
"Oh," stammered the halfling. "I... came alone. The Southerners do not take well to the chill of a northern spring, you know."
"Well, off with ye, then," commanded Bruenor. "Suren it be me turn to set out a feast for the pleasure of yer belly."
Drizzt took a seat beside the dwarf king as the other three scooted out of the room.
"Few folk in Calimport have ever heared o' me name, elf," Bruenor remarked when he and Drizzt were alone.
"And who south o' Longsaddle would be knowing of the wedding?"
Bruenor's sly expression showed that the experienced dwarf agreed exactly with Drizzt's feeling. "Suren the little one brings a bit of his treasure along with him, eh?" the dwarf king asked.
"He is running," Drizzt replied.
"Got himself into trouble again - " Bruenor snorted " - or I'm a bearded gnome!"
* * * * *
"Five meals a day," Bruenor muttered to Drizzt after the drow and the halfling had been in Mithril Hall for a week. "And helpings bigger than a half-sized one should hold!"
Drizzt, always amazed by Regis's appetite, had no answer for the dwarf king. Together they watched Regis from across the hall, stuffing bite after bite into his greedy mouth.
"Good thing we're opening new tunnels," Bruenor grumbled. "I'll be needing a fair supply o' mithril to keep that one fed."
As if Bruenor's reference to the new explorations had been a cue, General Dagna entered the dining hall. Apparently not interested in eating, the gruff, brown-bearded dwarf waved away an attendant and headed straight across the hall, toward Drizzt and Bruenor.
"That was a short trip," Bruenor remarked to Drizzt when they noticed the dwarf. Dagna had gone out just that morning, leading the latest scouting group to the new explorations in the deepest mines far to the west of the Undercity.
"Trouble or treasure?" Drizzt asked rhetorically, and Bruenor only shrugged, always expecting - and secretly hoping for - both.
"Me king," Dagna greeted, coming in front of Bruenor and pointedly not looking at the dark elf. He dipped in a i curt bow, his rock-set expression giving no clues about which of Drizzt's suppositions might be accurate.
"Mithril?" Bruenor asked hopefully.
Dagna seemed surprised by the blunt question. "Yes," he said at length. "The tunnel beyond the sealed door j intercepted a whole new complex, rich in ore, from what we can tell. The legend of yer gem-sniffing nose'll continue to grow, me king." He dipped into another bow, this one '. even lower than the first.
"Knew it," Bruenor whispered to Drizzt. "Went down that way once, afore me beard even came out. Killed me and 'ettin..."
"But we have trouble," Dagna interrupted, his face still expressionless.
Bruenor waited, and waited some more, for the tiresome dwarf to explain. "Trouble?" he finally asked, realizing that Dagna had paused for dramatic effect, and that the stubborn general probably would stand quietly for the remainder of the day if Bruenor didn't offer that prompt.
"Goblins," Dagna said ominously.
Bruenor snorted. "Thought ye said we had trouble?"
"A fair-sized tribe," Dagna went on. "Could be hundreds."
Bruenor looked up to Drizzt and recognized from the sparkle in the drow's lavender eyes that the news had not disturbed his friend any more than it had disturbed him.
"Hundreds of goblins, elf," Bruenor said slyly. "What do ye think o' that?"
Drizzt didn't reply, just continued to smirk and let the gleam in his eye speak for itself. Times had become uneventful since the retaking of Mithril Hall; the only metal ringing in the dwarven tunnels was the miner's pick and shovel and the craftsman's sledge, and the trails between Mithril Hall and Silverymoon were rarely dangerous or adventurous to the skilled Drizzt. This news held particular interest for